"I don't die so easily," he said. Lightening crackled at both ends of the staff.
Azaran kept the ax at the ready, but made no move to attack. "How do I know you?" he asked yet again, "You know my name, tell me yours."
"Are you going to play this game, Azaran? You may have fooled the other Osa'shaq, but not me. Not Nerazag."
"Nerazag." Azaran repeated the name. It felt...correct. Other fragments floated up from the depths, glimpses of faces half remembered, of words he could not quite hear. "Who did I betray?" he asked. "Who is our Master?"
Nerazag looked irritated. "I grow weary of this, Azaran. Swing that ax, let us end this! Or run away like the coward you are!"
"I don't know why you hate me," Azaran said, frustration boiling in him. "I don't know what I did, I don't know who I am! I can't remember anything!"
"What, you lost your memories?" Nerazag scoffed, still spinning the staff. A moment later he stopped. "You have," he said, finally understanding. "You truly don't remember. What's the first thing you do recall?"
"Being pulled from the sea," Azaran said desperately. "What happened before that? Please, in the name of any god you worship, tell me! I WANT TO KNOW!"
But Nerazag smirked. "You have fallen far, if you call upon rank superstition."
A loud shout came from the men fighting in the chamber. Nerazag glanced over. "Oh dear...it looks like Enkilash is dead. Almost a pity...spares me the trouble of killing him myself. His usefulness was coming to an end. This world will burn, Azaran. All that is weak will be swept away, as the Master decrees. And you will be among the first to die."
The staff began spinning again. "You have forgotten the Master," he said, "but he has not forgotten you, Azaran. You will remember and you will weep!"
The staff swung out, striking one of the quartz pillars, shattering it. Immediately the lightening ran wild, striking the walls and scattering stony fragments across the chamber. Azaran ducked, raising an arm to protect his head. When he looked back up again, Nerazag was gone.
The remaining two pillars rocked back and forth, cracks appearing in their sides. The orb at the the top of the staff blew apart in a cloud of smoke and fragments, the long pole beneath cracking to splinters. The Wind Stones stopped spinning, remaining hovering in mid air for a long moment, every eye in the chamber watching them.
Then they dropped, shattering to fragments when they hit the floor, the fragments turning to red smoking droplets of blood.
The ground began to shake. Cracks ran along the floor, hot steam venting out. The pool boiled over, black sludgy water rising up and engulfing the altar. A chunk of the ceiling fell into the water, followed by several others. The wall on the far side of the pool split and red molten rock dribbled out, sulfurous steam rushing it as it hit the water.
Azaran roared in frustration. His lungs burned as the foul air went in through his nostrils. He could hear the others coughing behind him. No sign of Nerazag, he was gone and with him the answers.
"Azaran!" Tavarus shouted. "We need to leave!"
Azaran hurled the ax aside. "Another time," he growled, turning away.
Tavarus and his men were helping the remaining captives to their feet, shoving them towards the corridor and ordering them all to run. "Go! Don't look back!"
Azaran helped one of the captives it. It was the girl, her wrist chain still wrapped around Ugallar's throat. Azaran pulled it free, "Run!"
She fell to her knees, face slack, as if all the horror was pouring out of her at once.
Azaran lifted the girl up, slinging her over his shoulder. Ahead he saw Tavarus run into the corridor. He followed after, coughing at the foul stench filling the place, the fumes pouring out behind him. The flesh of his back prickled from the growing heat, enough to sear the skin.
Fresh air beckoned. He lengthened his stride, all but hurling himself outside. He kept going, headed down the hill to the trees. Tavarus waved at him from inside a dry stream gully fifty feet down the mountain. "In here!"
Azaran jumped in, dropping the terrified girl off his shoulder. He looked back at the mountain, eyes widening in shock. Steam boiled out of the cave, even as the cave passage collapsed, stones falling inside and blocking it up. Holes appeared high on the mountain slopes, more scalding steam, pouring out.
Around the blocked cave mouth, cracks appeared in the mountain side. Steam hissed out under great pressure. The ground shook, the pent up pressure growing even higher.
Then the side of the mountain seemed to liquefy. Boulders and rubble slid down, buying the cave mouth and the horrors it led too, steam vents bursting out and sending stones flying. Earth and stone slid down the slope towards the gully.
"Get down!" Tavarus grabbed Azaran's shoulder and pulled him down. Men and women covered their heads, closed their eyes and waited for death. A cruel joke...they escaped the cave, the sacrifice, but the mountain would still take them one way or another....
A few pebbles bounced down on Azaran's neck. He opened his eyes, felt the back of his head, his hand coming away covered in a thin layer of dirt. He looked up and stared into a steep slope stones and dirt, stopped barely an inch from the edge of the gully.
Above them, the peak of the mountain was wreathed in smoke. Balls of flame lifted away like falling stars in reverse, headed in all directions. It took Azaran a moment to realize they were chunks of molten rock ejected into the sky.
The sky was noticeably brighter. Were they on the eastern slopes, the Sun would be peeking over the horizon. Azaran looked at the broad blue face of the mansion, high in the sky, watching the scene without comment.
He stood. "We won," he managed to say, though it felt nothing like victory to him.
"It only counts if you get home alive," Tavarus shot back, standing up and brushing dirt off his trousers and shirt. He'd lost his sword somewhere in the mountain.
"Then lets go, before the mountain changes its mind." Azaran pointed at the halted landslide, which by all rights should have buried them alive.
There was no argument. They climbed out of the gully and fled down the mountain.
Chapter Ten
Ten days passed, and when they were done Tereg was changed forever.
It took at least two days to get down from the mountain and return to the camp. The eruption was visible across the island, and when Tavarus and his men arrived the camp was in a state of panic. This turned to celebration when Tavarus broke the news of their victory. Bottles and barrels of anything remotely intoxicating were flowing, mirth and music flowed, and they celebrated long into the night and to the dawn, even as the sky burned from the eruption.
The worst of it was done within three days. Lava flowed down the northern slopes, burning away the trees covering the slopes. Burning embers fell further afield. Fortunately a rain storm blew in from the ocean not long after, preventing the isolated flames from turning to a major conflagration.
The rain was black as ink from the ash. Even as it fell, Tavarus sent runners out to other renegade camps scattered through the island, carrying word of the death of Enkilash. By the time the sky cleared, men were converging from across the eastern half of Tereg, armed with any weapon they could find and hailing Tavarus as their leader. They marched west to Otossa, keeping their distance from smoking mountain. Smoke and steam would continue to rise from the summit for years to come.
More pillars of smoke appeared to the west. The gates of the town were open and the sounds of panic came from inside as the army of renegades and runaway slaves approached. People huddled in half-ruined houses, for embers and fireballs from the mountain had landed here, setting thatch roofs ablaze. Enkilash's big house on the hill was nothing more than a pile of rubble. The harbor was choked with broken ships and burned out hulks.
No real resistance opposed their entry into the city. The yellow sashes of the pirates were conspicuous only by their absence - according to hollow-eyed locals when the ashes started falling there was a massive rush for the harbor, pirates fighting each other
and terrified townsfolk to get aboard the ships at anchor. The winds were contrary, shifting east, then west, then south, making it difficult for those ships that could muster any order among their crews to make any speed. Perhaps half got free of the harbor when the burning rocks started falling, torching those still at anchor, and catching many headed out to sea as well. Meanwhile, the slaves in the town took the opportunity to break their chains and flooded into the streets, attacking their masters and rioting. Most of the fires, in fact, were caused by their hands and pitched battles were fought in the streets while the mountain erupted in the distance. Those pirates who remained stripped off their sashes and blended into the townsfolk, keeping their heads down and out of sight.
Tavarus sent his men into the streets to restore order. Remaining fires were put out, the wounded treated as best they could. The sound of hammers filled Otossa's streets as damaged houses were repaired, those too far gone pulled down.
Shipwrights were hard at work in the harbor, repairing the less damaged ships. Tavarus set up camp in the ruins of Enkilash's big house, holding court in what used to be the great hall, now roofless, and spending the nights down below in the still-intact cellars. All prisoners had been freed, chains struck off the remaining slaves. Tavarus found Enkilash's big chair lying in the ground half buried in rubble and put back upright.
He sat down on it, wincing. "No wonder he went mad," Tavarus said. "This is torture on my back."
Segovac shook his head. "He was mad long before he set foot on the island. But having the power that came with that chair only made it worse."
"The only power with this chair is the power to cripple." Tavarus stepped away from it. "I'll have it replaced. Can't be lord of the town and spend my days in pain. A man's backside should be treated with respect."
"Better if you have no chair," said Azaran, crossing his arms. "And you are lord of this town now? Just like that?"
"Do you want the job?"
"No. But I did not fight this battle to replace one king with another."
"Enkilash was no king," Segovac pointed out.
"And you fought for your own reasons," Tavarus added. "As did I."
"If it's not Tavarus," said Segovac, "it will be someone else. Likely one of Enkilash's pirates, who will pick up right where he left off."
"There's nothing for me in Eburrea," Tavarus said. "And I am needed here. Tereg was once a refuge for outcasts and fugitives from across the known world. It will be again."
Azaran was dubious. He opened his mouth to speak. A loud crash to the left cut him off. All three men turned to see the mad cousin huddled in a corner, clutching what looked like a twisted iron gate to his breast. It was all that remained of the cage that had been his entire world for over a decade. He rocked back and forth, giggling uncontrollably, tears running down his face.
"What did you do with the cage?" Segovac asked.
"Threw it in the bay," Azaran replied. "He grabbed that piece and wouldn't let go of it. Doesn't do much else beyond laugh and weep."
"Once those ships are repaired," Tavarus said, "I'm sending him back to Hadaraj. One of his brothers rules a smaller city south of Kedaj. They will take him."
"Will they want him back?"
"He is of royal blood...despite the circumstances."
"And Enkilash's concubines?" asked Segovac. "I hear they survived the fire. They should be sent back to their families as well."
"I'm still pondering that. They say they want to stay. Apparently the welcome for them won't be as warm. Some political dispute...I didn't get the details."
"What will you do with them?"
"I am still deciding. They're being...very persuasive."
The mad cousin curled into a ball and whimpered. They watched this, then looked away, not wishing to interfere. Some things couldn't be fixed.
"So," Tavarus said, turning to Segovac. "What will you do? We could use your help here. The powers of a Rhennari would not be without welcome on Tereg."
But Segovac shook his head. "I've been away from home for too long. I would see my clan once again."
"They will not welcome you."
"We'll see."
Tavarus sighed. "All right. As soon as the ships are ready for the sea, one will take you north." He turned to Azaran. "There is a place for you here. Enkilash would still blight this world if you hadn't come along."
Azaran thought on this as well. Part of him wanted to say yes. A place for him. A...home. It was a strange word and strangely comforting. To hell with the memories...plant his feet in Teregi soil and let the future bring what it would.
You are a weapon. The voice from the past.
You are needed elsewhere. The silent passenger.
The decision was already made for him. Azaran knew this, as he knew the sun would shine and the wind would blow. He shook his head. "I'd like to see Eburrea," he said.
And maybe there I will find answers. That voice was his own.
Dusk. Two ships tentatively made their way out of the harbor. Fire damage still scorched their hulls. Oars slid out into the water, pulling the ships westward away from Tereg. Once they cleared the breakwater one turned its prow north, the crew stowing their oars and raising the single square sail to catch a northerly breeze. A pair of sharp eyes would have seen two men standing on the bow, one of them leaning on a wooden crutch, looking into the distance for a glimpse of the land that lay beyond. The other kept crawling its way south, following the coast until it turned to the east, where the crew hoped to catch a friendly breeze that would take them across the sea to Hadaraj.
Both ships left behind a town still acclimating itself to a new ruler. The pirates had not returned and never would. The terror of the Teregi corsairs was broken forever, and what the future might bring no man could say.
Night fell, and the locals found their beds, worn out from the labors of the day. The harbor side was deserted...save for a single man who stood before the water looking to the north. Short, tanned from the sun, just another dockworker by the looks of it, perhaps stricken by a bout of insomnia. No one would look at him twice...which is how Nerazag wanted it.
He looked into the night, but his mind was elsewhere. The traitor lives. Quite astonishing...though not unexpected. Men like that were made to endure, in body at least. The mind was another matter. He was an amnesiac, unless it was an act. Which seemed unlikely, Azaran did not have such skill at dissimulation.
But then again, no one would have suspected him of being a traitor.
The Master must be told. He turned away from the water, headed east through the town until he reached the gate. Still damaged from the eruption...he shifted his form again, now appearing as one of the runaways who had come in with Tavarus. The guards posted there did little more than nod as he left Otossa and headed into the woods
As soon as the walls were out of sight, he shifted into his true form. A quick glance at the sky gave his bearings. Nerazag headed southeast on foot. Two days walk at least to a certain cove on the coast, where a ship waited to take him east. In the hold were the two dozen sedated spellcasters, shamans, and various others who could call upon the Aethyr. A valuable cargo...but not as valuable as the news Nerazag would bring.
Azaran was alive. The Master would be told. And he would have his vengeance.
##
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Zackery Arbela
About the Author
The physical body of Zackery Arbela lives somewhere in the wilds of New England. The mind of Zackery Arbela can be found wandering the various planes and adornments of the temporal spheres, from whence he sometimes returns with new and fantasickal tales to tell.
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iscover other titles by Zackery Arbela
THE NINE SUNS
Gaebrel's Gamble
Storm Over Olysi
THE LEGEND OF FENN AQUILA
The Thief Of Galadorn
Red Shadows
THE TALE OF AZARAN
Warrior on the Sea of Memory
Shadow of the Ghost Bear
Fires of Mastery
The Infinity Key
FREE BONUS CONTENT!
Azaran's quest for his past continues in Shadow of the Ghost Bear, the second book of The Tale of Azaran. And as special bonus, here is the first chapter...for FREE!
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Chapter One
Tall stone walls, rising fifty feet high, converging on a great down of crystal, the panes were lit with glowing lines of script, written in a language no human eye could decipher, no human mouth could speak. Down below ran row after row of sculptures cut into the very stone, in a style so exaggerated that it was hard to tell what the images cut actually depicted. Repeated every twenty feet were long faces, brutish and brooding, with chins far larger than they should have been, the rest of their features hidden by stony cowls that thrust out, bathing them in shadow. The floor was bare and dark, save for a single shaft of light coming down from the dome above, creating a perfect circle on the floor, the shadowy letters glowing with their own faint light, a whispery red that crawled across the stone.
Men stood at the base of the wall, made tiny and insignificant by their surroundings. Some wore plain kilts wrapped about their waists, leaving their chests bare, others were clad in dark armor, made from some kind of metal that seemed to absorb the light. All had their heads shaved, exposed torso's marked with runes branded into their flesh that seemed to glow with a faint blue light. All heads were bare and shaved, all eyes downcast. All were still as statues. They would remain standing until ordered to do otherwise...or until death.
Warrior on the Edge of Memory (The Tale of Azaran Book 1) Page 13